


Harbor

by Serie11



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Coda, Conversations, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, POV Din Djarin, Parent-Child Relationship, Season/Series 02, Vignette, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29570220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serie11/pseuds/Serie11
Summary: Din would do anything to protect the child. The galaxy is about to find out how true that is.Eight chapters for eight epsiodes in season 2. Every chapter will add a scene to the episode that tells us something new about Din.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu
Comments: 77
Kudos: 123
Collections: Noromo Mando: Mandalorian Genfics Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” —John A. Shedd

The people of Mos Pelgo have gathered around a small fire pit placed in the sand lane that runs through the middle of the town. Din had helped haul seats out, which are now all full of adults eating a hearty meal and indulging in more drink than he’s particularly comfortable with. 

“Are you sure they will be fit to fight tomorrow?” Din asks Vanth. The man has been helpful in corralling the townsfolk to cooperate with the Sand People, but there’s a limit to it. Vanth doesn’t ask for anything more than what they’re willing to give. Din isn’t sure that’s a good way to run a town, but it’s none of his business. If all goes well, by this time tomorrow he’ll be gone, taking back the armour that Vanth is wearing as a poor consolation prize. This really has been more trouble than he expected, but he can’t leave the _beskar’gam_ in the hands of someone who isn’t a Mandalorian. It would be one thing if it was just ingots; but it’s not. He resists the urge to sigh. Nothing’s ever easy. 

“They know the stakes,” Vanth says. “Which is why they’re taking the time now to celebrate. Might be the last time.” 

Din casts his eyes over the group again. For some of them, it will be. He doesn’t know if they’ll be able to actually kill the dragon tomorrow, but even attempting it will mean lost lives. He’ll have to do his best to make sure they aren’t in vain. 

One man runs past, wearing a hat that is on fire. Din slowly looks back at Vanth. 

Vanth shrugs a shoulder. “Can get a bit hairy around here sometimes. These people live on the edge, what with the dragon, the Sand People, and anyone else that comes through wanting a piece of them. But even though sometimes I can’t understand what they get up to... they’re family, you know? Wouldn’t trade 'em for anyone else.” 

Din makes a soft sound that could be taken for agreement. 

Vanth leans back, taking a swig of his drink. “You got any? Family, I mean.” 

Din looks over at the child, who is still running around with the other children. Good – it’ll mean that he’ll sleep well tomorrow. Din’s still not sure about the plan to bring him along, but he doesn’t want him out of his sight. The kid has a way of getting into places that he shouldn’t be, and leaving him alone while Din goes to fight a giant monster is just asking for trouble. 

“I do,” he says, probably leaving the silence a second too long. “My tribe.” 

“Tribe?” 

“Other Mandalorians,” he explains. 

“Huh,” Vanth says. He’s still wearing the breastplate, but has forgone the jetpack and helmet. Din tries not to be too obvious with how much he dislikes the casual flaunting, and his lack of respect. “Never seen one of you before, and then you come along and say there’s more. Guess where you’ll find one you’ll find many.” 

“Something like that,” Din agrees. He hasn’t seen any other Mandalorians since the Armourer quested him with returning the child to his people. So far, it’s not the longest amount of time he’s been away from the tribe, but without the possibility of returning to them, the distance feels deeper. Another reason he wants to try and get in touch with his covert. 

“Bounty hunters are usually solitary creatures,” Vanth says. “I’ve met a fair few of them myself over the years, before I became marshal of this town. Always hungry for their next hunt. I almost don’t believe you are one.” 

“Why?” Din asks, when Vanth doesn’t continue. 

“The little one, first of all,” he says, peering over to where the children are all playing together. “Never seen a bounty hunter with a kid before. And those that don’t run with crews, don’t usually have much of a family.” 

“Mandalorians are different,” Din says. There’s a certain relief in talking about his people to someone who is actually interested – he doesn’t get the opportunity very often, and even less does he deem the company worthy of his thoughts. “The tribe comes first. Children, especially.” 

“I can tell that you take care of yours,” Vanth says, finishing his drink. “Kids can be a lot more honest than adults, especially younger ones. Tell you a lot about their parents, if you know what to look for.” 

“I know,” Din says. “I find a lot of kids. It’s dangerous out there, and parents often don’t make it. I try to find the kids a place to go when I can, and if I leave them somewhere then I make sure I'm sure that they’re going to be safe.” Another reason handing the kid over to the Imperials had felt so wrong. He was used to bringing children back to Nevarro and the safety of his tribe, not to hand them over to an unknown fate. 

“And if they’re not?” Vanth asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“Find somewhere else,” Din answers. “It’s strongly preferred that a child stays with their people. But if there truly is nowhere for them to go, then I take them back to the tribe. We will take care of them.” 

“Huh,” Vanth says. “Stories didn’t mention that. But seeing you with the little one, I can believe it. What if the kids don’t want to suit up when they get older?” 

“Why do you want to know?” 

Vanth shrugs. “I was wearing that armour for a while. Call me curious.” 

“No one is forced to wear the armour or follow the Way,” Din explains. “It’s a choice. It’s a choice that you make, every day.” He thinks of the Armourer, then. _To walk the path of the Mandalore is to be both hunter and prey._ In all his years, he’s never heard it be explained more clearly than that. They are wanted for their beskar, and they are hunters by nature and nurture. “If a foundling or a Tribe born child comes of age and doesn’t wish to take the Creed, they don’t have to. We’ll still protect them until they’re old enough to decide their own way in the galaxy.” 

“Then why do you do it? Wear the armour?” 

Din only has to think for a second, about what he wants to share. Just because Vanth is asking, doesn’t mean he has to answer. “When the Empire destroyed Mandalore, we were forced into hiding,” he says quietly. Vanth sits up slightly, eyes focusing as he takes on Din’s serious tone. “Our secrecy is our survival. The armour unites us all, even when we’re systems apart.” He takes a breath. “There is no room for compromise when you are hunted for who you are.” 

“Beskar isn’t going cheap these days, I’d reckon,” Vanth says quietly. 

Din shakes his head. “It’s valuable,” he agrees. “As you should well know.”

“That I do,” Vanth agrees.

“And it’s like you said,” Din adds, soft enough that Vanth may not be able to hear him at all. “They’re family. I would do anything to help and protect them.”

“Huh,” Vanth says after a pause. He looks down at his empty cup. “Well, then maybe I wouldn’t have made a bad Mandalorian after all.”

Din looks over to where the children have started to slow down, tiredness overtaking the youngest ones. There’s the flash of green amongst them, and Din watches as the child yawns, crinkling up his nose and shaking his long ears. A bubble of warmth fills his chest, and he makes himself look away. 

“You should get some rest,” Din says instead of answering Vanth’s statement. “I’m going to take the child back. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” 

“Right you are,” Vanth says, and watches as Din stands. “Right you are.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“Alright, come on, back to the hanger,” Peli says, shuffling her winnings into the deepest corner of her coat. “I’m on a tight schedule here.”

Din doesn’t say anything, even though playing cards at the bar doesn’t seem like the activity of someone who’s on a tight schedule. Peli’s been nothing but kind to him and the kid, and she’s done work for him in the past even when he couldn’t pay her as much as he probably should have, so he’s willing to give her a lot of slack. 

“What kinda seasoning do you think works best with dragon? Spicy, sweet? You know how to treat a lady, bringing back something like that. The droids can cook it, it’s way too big to bother trying to put it on my grill – unless you’ve got something?” 

“I’m sure I can get something to work,” Din tells her. 

“Sounds like a plan,” Peli says, clearly satisfied with the situation. “I’ll think about what we can put on the meat. In the meantime, you should  _ probably  _ wash up. Unless that goop is your new look?” 

Din looks down at his vambraces, which are filthy with combined dust and the gut juices of the krayt dragon. The first sun has disappeared since he entered the bar, and the second is nearing the horizon. It’s been a long day. Killing the krayt dragon seems like it happened a week ago, not this morning. Fighting the bounty hunters and walking the rest of the way back to town had taken what little energy he had remaining. 

“I’ll clean up,” he tells her. 

The kid makes a soft noise from where he’s still sitting in his sling. Din resists the urge to reach down and reassure him. He’ll have enough trouble cleaning himself up without having to wrangle the kid into a bath too. 

The  _ Razor Crest  _ has wires spilling out of it and half the engine exposed, which gives Din an idea of how they might cook the dragon meat. He plods into the hold of the  _ Crest _ , closing the hanger door behind him and locking the ship. 

The kid starts chatting with himself softly. “I’m happy to be back too,” Din tells him, lifting him up from the sling and stashing him away in their sleeping quarters. He doesn’t close the door, and the kid coos at him, wide eyes blinking slowly. “Stay there,” Din says. He needs a while to himself without the kid underfoot. 

He heads into the tiny kitchen on the top floor, a luxury on a ship this old. He closes the door behind him and leans against the wall, just for a second. Just so he can breathe. 

He jerks awake when he almost tips over. Shaking his head, he goes to one of the small storage cabinets and digs around until he finds what he’s looking for. 

The helmet comes off with a soft hiss, and he blinks as his vision adjusts. Somehow, there’s sand in his hair, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of his clothes. He runs a hand through it before dismissing it from his mind. He doesn’t have the time for a full clean. The armour comes first. 

Din starts with the helmet, the bottle in his hands small for how powerful it is. The beskar looks like it’s just come from the forge after he wipes a cloth stained with the cleaning solution over it. He’s been rationing it, since he doesn’t know when he’ll come into contact with another covert, but this level of mess needs high quality cleaner or he’ll never get rid of the evidence of being in a krayt dragon gut. He wears this every day – he doesn’t want to walk around smelling like he’s just climbed out of a rancid puddle. 

He slowly cleans the rest of the beskar. Just like the many other battles behind it, it comes out of this one without looking any worse for wear. His flightsuit is a different story – Din grimaces over it and throws it on the counter to be made into rags later. It had held up when he needed it, but the integrity is shot, and he can’t rely on it again. 

The rest of his armour that isn’t beskar has fared about the same. Din writes off far more than he can afford, and then checks his back ups. Down to his last flightsuit, second last pair of underclothes, and less underwear than he’d like. He sets his jaw, but then breathes out. There’s nothing he can do about it right now. When he has the opportunity he’ll replace what he needs, but until then focusing on it will only distract him from what is truly important. The kid. The quest. 

When he emerges, the kid isn’t in his bed. Din isn’t too worried, because he didn’t hear the hanger door open; he’s still in here somewhere. He takes a minute to recheck his ammo and fish out a few more rounds for his rifle. He’s running low on those too. This detour cost him time and money, but if Peli’s contact comes through, maybe he’ll be in touch with another covert soon. He can beg for aid for the kid, at least, even if he doesn’t know them. 

“Kid,” he says to the room when he’s ready to leave, and goes over to the side of the hanger that a soft coos wafts from. The kid is chewing on the edge of a crate that holds his spare grenades, and he checks the lid is still tight as he picks him up. The kid reaches up for him and Din only feels slightly indulgent when he lifts him up so the kid can grab onto the cowl of his cloak. “Hey,” he says. The kid had gotten tossed around today, and something lodges in his throat when he thinks about how the bounty hunter had threatened him with a knife. “Do you need anything?” 

The kid babbles and his claws tighten on Din’s cowl, which he takes as a no. Otherwise he’d start waving them around to try and draw Din’s attention to something. He’d napped most of the way back to town, and Din takes his normal behaviour as evidence that he hasn’t truly been injured by the day’s activities. 

“Alright,” Din agrees as the kid talks in his own way against the fabric. “Dinner will be ready soon.” 

He pulls the kid’s sling over his shoulder but doesn’t let go of him. The fear that has curled up in his breast still hasn’t fully dissipated, but hearing the kid’s soft mumbles as he pulls Din’s cowl between his claws is slowly easing it away. 

Peli is arguing with one of her droids when he unlocks the hanger, and she gives him a once over before nodding in approval. “You look like you know what you’re doing again,” she says. “Have any ideas for the meat?”

Din slowly turns to look at the engine of the  _ Crest _ , which is still being worked on by one of Peli’s droids. 

“The engine probably has enough juice in her,” he says, and watches as a wide grin spreads over Peli’s face. 

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says. “Alright. Let’s hook her up.” 


	3. Chapter 3

The sun had set hours ago. After they’d finished briefing him, the three other Mandalorians had led him back to a bolt hole they had apparently been operating out for however long they have been on this planet. It’s small, but not as cramped as some places that Din has been in, and it’s a lot better than most bolt holes that Din has squatted in. 

The child burbles on his lap. Din had found a shiny knut and screw weeks ago, and had given it to the kid when they’d arrived. The metal has kept him occupied for the last hour, twisting and turning the pieces back and forth, pulling them apart and then putting them back together. Din has had that in his back pocket for a while; something that would keep the kid quiet when he really needed it. He’d told the others that he was looking for a  _ jetii _ , but there’s no reason they need to know that the kid already has their powers. 

“As long as she tells us where to find the Jedi,” Din says to the kid. He doesn’t reply, obviously, still turning the metal over in his tiny hands. This might be more trouble than it’s worth. He wants to find  _ real  _ Mandalorians, ones he can connect with and beg a favour off. This… exchange, of his aid for the information, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Normally it would be something that he wouldn’t blink at, but a Mandalorian bargaining for the good of a foundling is just wrong. It bothers him almost more than their casual disregard of their helmets, which in and of itself is causing unease to snake through him. 

When he had been looking for other Mandalorians, really he had been looking for his tribe. He’d been foolish to leave the Armourer on Nevarro when they had defeated Gideon, but by the time he had gone back to look for her, she and the remaining beskar had been gone. Cara had promised to keep an eye out for any hints or messages, but Din knew there wouldn’t be any. Once the covert left a planet, they left it. There was no looking back. This is the way. 

The unnamed woman comes back in to lift the lid off one of the containers. She and the man hadn’t introduced themselves, which Din honestly prefers. If he doesn’t know their names, he can’t give them away. Though maybe that’s another thing only his tribe kept to. Their anonymity protects them, but Bo-Katan does not want to be anonymous. She shouts her name for anyone to hear, and the glint in her eyes when they’d spoken about hijacking the ship had told him enough. When they succeed, she’s not going to be silent about that either. 

Din isn’t surprised when she lifts out a blaster, but he keeps an eye on her anyway. Two exits, one front, one back. No windows – if they blocked the doors he’d have to go straight through a wall. They’d come through the back entrance and he’d memorised the alleys that led back out to the main street and down to the port where his ship was still undergoing heavy repairs. He wants to be down there, helping. Anything to know that if he needs to, he can get off this planet immediately. 

“Get some rest,” the woman says, flipping the blaster over in her hands to get a feel for the weight of it. “Bo-Katan said you could use the back room. Since you’ll want your privacy.” 

“Thank you,” Din says, even though he’s not feeling very grateful. He can sleep with the helmet on if he needs to, and it feels like this is just another subtle jab of an argument to try and get him on their side. She barely nods before disappearing out the door again. 

The kid burbles in his lap, looking up at him expectantly. Din hasn’t fed him for hours, and the kid is being astonishingly patient. 

“It’s been a long day, I know,” Din says. He pushes down the sick feeling that threatens to overwhelm him when he thinks of the crib disappearing into the jaws of the sea monster. If these people hadn’t come and rescued them, both Din and the child would be dead. He owes them, more than he wants to.  _ Tomorrow will fix that,  _ he tells himself, but it doesn’t do much for the unease in his gut. He’s barely put the child down since taking him up from the busted pram. He needs another way to carry him around, because he can’t afford another pram. 

The kid clinks the screw against his beskar, and again when he realises that it makes a noise. Din lets him do it, instead tallying up what he needs to stock up on when he returns to the ship.  _ Everything _ , he concludes wryly. His credits are the lowest that they’ve ever been, and it’s been a while since his last proper job. He looks down at the kid, who is still hitting the screw against his armour.  _ After I’ve delivered the child,  _ he thinks, and tries to ignore the surge of nausea in the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. 

Someone steps into the doorway again. It’s Bo-Katan; she has her helmet tucked under her elbow. 

“Koskar said that you were in here,” she says. “I just wanted to chat before the mission tomorrow.” 

Din says nothing. She doesn’t seem to mind the silence, marred as it is with the tinny sound of metal on beskar. Maybe she even prefers it. 

“You were lucky that she saw you today before you were taken out on that ship,” she continues smoothly, like there hadn’t been a ten second pause in the conversation. “I’d like for communication lines to be clear tomorrow. There isn’t any room for error here.” 

Din nods once. “Do your helmets have comms?” 

“Of course,” Bo-Katan says, sounding like she’s humouring him by fielding an obvious question. “If you have comms then we can patch them in. With the element of surprise on our side, the op should go more smoothly than the fight today.”

“If all goes to plan.” 

“Do you usually think this far ahead?” Bo-Katan asks, as if that isn’t one of the most insulting questions Din can think of. Before he can take more than an angry breath, she keeps speaking. “When we rescued you, you seemed a little out of your depth,” she muses to the room at large. Din doesn’t rise to her bait, but when he was a younger man, he would have. “Did they hit you with a tranq, or…?”

“No,” Din says after a long moment. He doesn’t want to give her anything, because he can tell that at the first opportunity she will use whatever leverage she has to demand more. But still, if they’re going to do an op over water then it can’t hurt for her to know; and she saved the kid. “I can’t swim.” 

Her eyebrows jump up, and Din fights the urge to look away. “Interesting plan, then,” she drawls. “You jump in, and then…?” 

There had been no plan. Pure panic had driven his actions

“The child comes first,” is all that he says. Bo-Katan stares at him, but he’s no stranger to uncomfortable silences. She won’t get anything more from him on this. 

“Of course,” she says after an awkward pause, smiling sweetly. There’s nothing of that sweetness in her eyes. “And protecting such a child takes resources. It’s easier to move with a team.” 

Din doesn’t say anything. In his lap, the child curls his claws around Din’s thumb. He can feel the pressure of it even though his glove, and it grounds him probably more than it should. 

“Just something to think about,” she says, eyes falling to the child in his lap. “You had better find someone to take care of him.” She turns to leave, looking over her shoulder at Din. “It’s going to be a firefight tomorrow, and no kid deserves to get caught up in that.” 

He bristles at her criticism before he admits to himself that it’s valid. The kid had gotten caught up in the fight today, a fight that he wouldn’t have been in if Din had been better, been faster and smarter and not as desperate as he  _ is _ . The child coos quietly and his grip on Din’s thumb tightens incrementally. 

He needs to get his head on straight. As confident as Bo-Katan is, Din doesn’t underestimate the enormity of the task that they’ve given themselves. He looks down at the child pressed up against his armour, and thinks of the limited favours he can call upon on a planet like this, in the limited time that he has. 

“How do you feel about a house call?” 


	4. Chapter 4

Nevarro slowly shrinks behind them as Din keys in the data needed to take them to Corvus. He’ll set a course and then clean up the kid, who is still looking slightly woozy where Din had strapped him into his seat. 

“Akoo?”

“Try another one of your snacks,” Din tells him. He has no idea where the kid picked the biscuits up from. The school, obviously, but he hadn’t paid any attention to anything but the kid when he’d basically torn down the classroom door and snatched him out of his seat. “Did you… get it for being good?” 

“Potoo.” 

“Really. That’s great,” Din answers. There’s the sound of the wrapper crinkling, sharp and soft at the same time. When he looks over his shoulder the kid is inspecting the biscuits again, like he’s not too sure he wants to eat it after throwing it back up. He’s very rarely sick – and that thought is enough for Din to turn away from the computer and scoop the kid up, plucking the package from his tiny hand. “What’s in this?” 

The kid blinks up at him innocently. There’s no markings on the wrapper, and Din sighs and tucks it into his belt. He sits back down with the kid on his lap this time, and returns to keying in the variables. Corvus is a long way away. He really needed the refueling that he got. 

The computer throws an error, and he sighs. “Looks like we’re doing this one by hand,” he says. The kid mumbles something. “Do you want me to run you through it?” Din asks awkwardly. He’s not sure the kid would really be interested in or even understand the math of piloting a spaceship through hyperspace, but he wants to try anyway. 

The kid’s ears perk up. Din pulls up the notepad that he uses and the variables that represent the  _ Crest _ and the forces that act on the ship during light speed travel. 

“This is the weight and shape of the ship,” he says. “Our gravitational force is insignificant because we don’t carry any heavy cargo, but I still calculate with it just to be sure. No reason to cut corners. To jump to hyperspace our hyperdrive needs to be working and have enough juice to make the jump, but we take those as prerequisites to even get to hyperspace in the first place.” He exits out of the notepad and asks the computer to run a diagnostic on the ship. It returns several numbers, which he punches into the notepad. “Okay, so the weight of the ship has changed slightly with our added fuel so we can adjust that. Hyperdrive is good to go, and we have enough fuel for seventeen point two standard days of lightspeed travel, if we’re really pushing it. I don’t think it will take that long to get to Corvus, though.” 

“Aboo?” 

“The variables for hyperspace travel are fixed,” he says, like the kid had asked an actual question. “But we have to calculate the best route, taking into account the location of any planets, stars, meteors, or anything else that might have a gravitational field that could affect us.” 

He pulls up his most recent map and highlights Corvus. 

“It looks like there’s a solar storm right in the middle of the path,” he says, pointing it out. “Probably what’s throwing the computer off. See it on the map? We don’t want to go near that, so we’ll have to chart a path around it. It’ll add to the trip.” A detour that will take time and fuel he can’t afford to waste. He thinks about his dwindling credits and resists the urge to sigh. 

The kid squeezes his thumb. Din looks down at him to see the kid looking up at the map with wide eyes. 

He clears his throat a little, trying to focus on the whirling starmap in front of his eyes. The kid’s amazement at things that he has long taken for ordinary never ceases to make fondness swell up inside him. “Normally the computer would do this for me, but the ship is old enough that programming longer jumps is too much for it sometimes. I don’t want to use the hyperdrive more than we have to, but that’s okay. I can use all this to calculate the right path for us.” 

It takes longer than he’d like, with the kid still sitting there with his sick all over him. When he finishes, he stops himself from telling the computer to run the command. He can still hear the voice of the man who taught him to do this.  _ When you calc by hand, do it twice. Do it three times if you have to. Better bored than dead.  _

He does the math again. 

When he’s finally certain that he isn’t telling the computer to creatively disintegrate the ship and kill them both, he enters the destination command and initiates the hyperdrive. The stars blur, and Din looks down at the child on his lap. He’s taken long enough that the kid has fallen asleep, and for a few minutes he doesn’t move, watching him breath in, and out. 

Moff Gideon is still alive. The shock of it has mostly flaked away, to reveal a burning red anger underneath. The man had been part of the destruction of Mandalore, and he’s the reason Din and the kid can’t spend more than a few days in one place. He’s been running for months. He hasn’t really kept track of it, but it’s definitely nearing a standard year since he first took the assignment to track down the kid. The kid deserves more than a life on the run, constantly in danger and never being able to stay in one place or have people to trust. Din thinks again of the school on Nevarro, the clean bazaar and the healthy trade that had been going on. Of blue biscuits and other children and other beings that the kid could interact with. Of Cara and Greef and a community that could welcome them both. 

He’d had that once, and they’d destroyed themselves because he made the wrong decision. 

“The  _ jetii  _ will teach you and protect you,” he tells the kid, jaw clenched. He looks out at the blurry afterimage of stars instead of the child who is in his care. The kid doesn’t wake up, but he’s still got his claws hooked tight on Din’s thumb. Something flutters in his chest, something dangerous that he shouldn’t look at directly. The experiments in the lab today had unnerved him. The thought of the kid having something like that happen to him is almost enough to undo him. 

_ I’ll take down Moff Gideon _ , he promises himself. For what he did to Mandalore, and for the threat he’ll still pose to the child even after Din gives him to the  _ jetii.  _ He can make sure the kid will be safe from that threat, even if he’s no longer around to protect him from anything else. 

The kid mumbles softly in his sleep, a sound that Din has gotten used to in the time that they’ve been sharing sleeping quarters. How he’ll deal with a silent ship, he doesn’t know. He puts it out of his mind forcibly. The future is fluid. The present needs to be dealt with now. And there is a child on his lap who needs his attention. 

“Come on,” he says quietly, lifting the kid into his arms. His math tells them that they have time before they’ll reach Corvus. They have that time to themselves, before they have to deal with new people on a new planet. “Bath time.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Grogu. 

Din can still hardly bring himself to think about the kid with a name. For so long, he’d just been the child, or the kid; Din had called him buddy, friend, pal. He’d never given him a name because he had never needed to. After all, Din has been nameless for most of his life. Maybe he’d been selfish in this, too. Just because he chose to live without a name doesn’t mean that the kid has to. That  _ Grogu  _ has to. 

Maybe it’s for the best. The kid has a name, and now Din knows what it is. What’s more – Grogu clearly likes being called by his name. 

He looks down at the child in his arms. Grogu has drifted back off to sleep after Din had picked him up, clearly at ease in his arms. The baby is a disconnect right in front of his eyes; something that should be there but isn’t. The Jedi woman, Ahsoka, had agreed to train him. That means that Din’s job is almost done. He had promised to take Grogu back to his kind, and now here they are. 

Is learning his name now a blessing or a curse? One final benediction, or a reminder of everything he is leaving behind? Proof that he was never suited to be a caretaker forever? He touches the curve of Grogu’s ear lightly, watching how it twitches at the contact. Grogu still doesn’t stir. 

“Hey,” Din says, his mouth feeling like he’s been eating sand for weeks. He has to force himself to speak, which is stupid. Standing here in silence is not going to save him from what he is going to do next. Breaking that silence feels like he’s starting the process, but he’d started it already just by walking here. Just by picking up his child. Soon, he’s going to have to put him down. “Grogu.” 

Grogu lets out a soft churring noise. Din’s throat tightens. He’s made the sound almost every time he’s been woken when he’d prefer to be napping, but they have to get moving. Din is an eminently practical person. He’s always been proud of that. So it’s that, of course, is what drives his next decision. 

“Do you want something to eat?” 

Grogu blinks up at him before reaching out with one hand and opening and closing his fingers, white teeth flashing as he yawns. 

“Right,” Din says, moving across the ship. He climbs the ladder to the top floor easily even with one hand. It’s a learned skill that has become something more of a habit, and even when he’s not carrying Grogu he slides down the ladder with only one hand. Having the kid at his side is second nature, not something he has to think about accommodating. 

He sets down Grogu on their one very small kitchen table. This is the most cramped room in the  _ Crest _ , mostly because Din has the unfortunate habit of hoarding every useful thing he’s ever come across. If it’s not a weapon and doesn’t already have a place in the hold, he’ll stuff it in a box in the kitchen for later, which all works fine until there’s more box than airspace left in the room. He has a particularly sturdy one that he uses for a seat, and he sits on it now. Grogu still has his eyes half shut, threatening to fall back asleep. Din knows how to wake him up. 

His hands don’t shake as he reaches for the packet of food. It’s the last of the krill from Sorgan, and he’s been saving it for a time when the kid really needed cheering up. If this is the last meal he’ll have on the  _ Crest _ , there’s no reason to not eat it. When he zaps it so it’s ready to eat, the smell immediately makes Grogu’s ears perk up. 

“Remember this?” Din asks, smiling. He also heats up some of the soup that Grogu is particularly partial to, and gives the first krill over. “Watch it, it’s hot.” 

That’s never stopped him before, and it doesn’t now. The krill is gone in a flash, Grogu making an inquisitive sound for more. His hand opens and shuts, but he doesn’t lift the food up with his powers, instead waiting for Din to give it to him. Din’s heart does something funny in his chest. He hands the next one over, and that’s gone just as fast as the first. 

“I’ll have to tell Ahsoka what type of food you like,” Din mumbles to himself, then pauses. “Although, you could just tell her yourself, couldn’t you?”

Grogu tilts his head slightly and gobbles down the krill that Din hands to him. 

He can’t take his eyes away from the kid. Each second that passes is one closer to the time when he will have to step away. Each spoonful of food that he gives Grogu slowly empties the bowl of soup. 

_ I’ll miss you.  _ He swallows down the words. Speaking with Ahsoka has confirmed what he already knew – Grogu understands what he says when he speaks. He doesn’t need to give that to the kid before they part. 

“You need to remember where you came from,” Din tells him. He fishes out the mythosaur pendant from under Grogu’s shirt, and shows it to him. “This is a mythosaur. Remember I told you about them?” 

Grogu reaches up to hold it, staring up at Din. He’d started telling him their history when the kid was too fussy to sleep, until it had just become something he did out of habit, because he wanted to. Even if Grogu is leaving to be with the Jedi, he’s been with Din for long enough that it’s his history too. Even if Din has never claimed him officially as his own. 

“It belonged to the Mandalorian that rescued me,” Din tells him quietly. “He gave it to me when I was first brought to my tribe. Now it belongs to you. Promise me you’ll take good care of it, alright?” 

Grogu makes a soft noise that Din takes as agreement. He tucks the pendant away, and feeds Grogu another spoonful of soup. 

Just another few minutes, he tells himself. There’s something tearing a hole in his chest. Just another few minutes, and they’ll go to the Jedi. Until then, it’s just the two of them, inside the ship that has come to mean more to him in the last year than in the last twenty that he’s flown it. He cleans up a bit of soup that Grogu spills, and stills, looking down at the mess. No more misplaced objects for him to trip over as soon as he wakes up. No more soft noises to wake him in the middle of his sleep cycle. No more comforting weight at his side as he leaves the  _ Crest  _ for their next job _.  _

Grogu makes a soft, distressed sound, and Din yanks his thoughts out of their spiral. There’s time for that later. For when he’s alone again. 

“Hush,” Din tells him, giving him another spoon of soup. “I’m here. I promise.” 

He doesn’t think about how much longer he’s going to be able to keep that promise for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of 2x05 has me 😭😭😭 honestly like Din leaves Ahsoka in the town and then goes back to the Razor Crest, only to stand there and hold the baby as the shot pans out... and then Ahsoka is there at the ship despite Din saying that he would fetch Grogu! How long did they stay away for her to have to come and find them!! I can't take the devotion of it all!!!


	6. Chapter 6

It’s like a second heartbeat under his skin, knowledge as inescapable as the blood within his veins. 

_ Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.  _

How had he ever lived, without the kid? It feels like a different lifetime. Or a different person; like someone else was walking around in his skin, and he only woke up on Arvala-7 after extending his hand for Grogu for the first time. Everything before that seems shadowy, unimportant. There is a child in his care. There  _ had  _ been a child in his care. He needs to get him back. 

“It’s a while until we arrive at Nevarro,” Fennec tells him. He’s grateful for her flat delivery in a nebulous, distant way. Fett and Fennec have been courteous to him, even when it’s clear that he’s systems away, all his thoughts spent on someone besides them. They’ve strategised and planned, and now they just have to carry it out. Easier said than done, but Din has never been more determined. “There’s a room in the back you can use if you need anything. I’ll be up in the cockpit with Fett.”

He manages a nod, and she disappears. The interior of the ship is organised, everything put away and nothing lying around. Din has never felt less curious about anything in his entire life. His whole being is thrumming with the need to act, to move, to do  _ something.  _ While he sits here, his child is out there, alone. While he sits here and waits, his child is out there with people who see him as nothing more than an experiment, a useful source of bioproducts. They don’t care if he’s happy or warm or has food that he likes to eat. They don’t care about him at all beyond what he can do for them. 

His gloves creak with how hard he’s clenching his fists. 

He sets his hands palm down, deliberately controlled, on the table sitting at the edge of the cabin. The artificial gravity in this ship is just a touch off, and his armour doesn’t feel as weighty as it normally does. It should feel heavier – he’s detached enough to know that he’s exhausted. 

He goes into the back room that Fennec pointed out, because if he’s moving then he doesn’t have to think. The door doesn’t lock, but he knows enough about the other two people on the ship to be sure that they’ll knock before coming in. Even so, he sits on the edge of a bunk and carefully, clinically, begins to lay out today’s mistakes. He needs to confront them so he can learn from them. 

He wants to label mistake one as coming to the planet at all. How had the Imperials even known that they would be there? If it was a planet connected to the Jedi, then maybe they had someone watching it’s airspace. Except Din had scanned the planet before they had entered orbit, and nothing unusual had popped up. He’d fully believed that the world was abandoned. And yet Fett and Fennec had found him, with the Imperials right behind them. Perhaps the Imperials had been tracking Fett? Din would have to ask how Fett had been tracking him. The hyperspace jump that he had taken to Tython had not been through the normal hyperspace lanes. If Fett had gotten someone on Nevarro to spill… but only Cara and Ahsoka had known the next world that he was heading to, and they wouldn’t have betrayed him. 

He sets it aside. He’ll ask Fett about the tracking, and any ideas the two of them have about the Imperials. His second mistake had been going alone. It’s something that he’s been guilty of ever since leaving the covert, and he’s told himself time and again that he has no choice in the matter. It finally came back to bite him. He should have found a solution. This at least they are rectifying right now – he’ll ask Cara for backup, and they’ll have Mayfeld if they can extract him. 

That might not be enough. 

He grits his teeth. Bo-Katan wants Moff Gideon. He doesn’t like her, but he’s sure that she will help assault his hiding place if he tells her where it is. She and her team are fast, efficient, and deadly. It doesn’t matter what he wants. What matters is getting the kid back. He’ll approach and ask her for her help. 

Next mistake; leaving his ship under armed. He should have brought his ambam rifle along with him. If he’d had it, he could have sat on the hilltop with Grogu and picked off the stormtroopers from a distance. He could have stayed with the kid, and when he was done with his Jedi magic, he could have picked him up and they could have run. 

_ To where? _ The traitorous whisper comes from the back of his mind. The Imperials had destroyed the  _ Razor Crest _ , a loss that is equally frustrating as it is angering. Years of modifications and stores, gear that he had accumulated over a lifetime, gone. He’s amazed he had been able to find the beskar spear, let alone the gear shift ball. His Ambam rifle, handed to him and hand modified by his own  _ buir _ , something irreplaceable because it had been made by her, gone. 

_ It’s just a ship. They’re just things.  _ He wouldn’t say that he’s someone overly attached to material possessions, but he needs gear to complete his work. He needs a ship to travel. He has his blaster, the spear, two vibroblades, his armour, an array of small tools in his utility pouch, two snack bars that he was carrying for if the kid got hungry, a handful of credits, and the gear shift knob. 

Maybe they could have gotten to Fett’s ship and escaped, but the Imperial cruiser above the planet made that doubtful. And those droids… he’s seen many, and those were clearly made for the purpose of waging war. He doesn’t know if he had the firepower to go up against them. 

Mistake: not having an exit plan. Parking the  _ Crest  _ so far from the mountain. Not arming himself. Allowing himself to be disarmed when he had taken off his jetpack. Not being fast enough when scaling the mountain. Not being good enough to deal with the stormtroopers in a timely manner. Not– 

He takes a long breath in, and forces himself to lie down. Even if he doesn’t sleep, he can rest his body. 

He cannot afford to wallow. The mistakes have been identified. He will go with a team to rescue Grogu. He will ask Cara if he can borrow some of her gear. He will thank Fett for the use of his ship. They will find Gideon’s location and they will come with a plan to get in and out, and they will have a backup plan for when things go to shit. 

He starts thinking of ways to improve the plan, and somehow falls asleep. He jerks awake when there’s a knock on the door. He rolls off the bunk and opens it to find Fennec, looking fresher than last he’d seen her. He must have been out for a while. 

“Nevarro’s in sight, and we’re clear to land.” 

He nods, and she disappears. Din makes use of the time to stretch out his screaming muscles, going through katas from his childhood. They’ve always centered him, and they don’t let him down now, bringing his focus to a sharp point. The goal is clear. He is ready. 

Cara doesn’t take much convincing to leave Nevarro, which Din is more grateful for than he can say. He doesn’t know how this would be possible without her and her shiny New Republic powers. Nabbing Mayfeld out of the Republic prison without her would have been a nightmare. He would have done it, but things are much easier this way. 

She also agrees to lend him another few guns, which they take a quick detour for. 

It’s not until they’re back on Fett’s ship, Fennec and Fett up in the cockpit, that they’re really alone. He goes to sit at the tiny table, ready to go over their plan for extracting Mayfeld, when Cara speaks. 

“Din.” 

He freezes. She never called him by his name, even after she had learnt it on that fateful day on Nevarro. He’d almost begun to entertain the idea that she had forgotten it. He chides himself for thinking that; Cara is too sharp. She never would have survived if she let any advantage slip by her. 

He turns to face her. Her eyebrows are drawn together in a way that he’s rarely ever seen; little bothers her, and if something does she usually has no issues with shooting it. 

“We’ll get him back,” she says. There’s a promise in her eyes, that she’s ready to do anything that it takes to see the task done. Din doesn’t need to think about whether or not he’s as certain as she is. 

“We will,” he replies, and it’s a vow that they’re making, together. 

He looks forward to seeing it fulfilled. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, you okay?” 

He has no idea how he’s supposed to answer that question. The ship rumbles around them, preparing to jump to their next destination. Cara’s eyebrows are tilted in the way she gets when she’s worried about something, and Din has a whole buffet of answers that he could guess at. Probably not leaving Mayfeld behind – he always knew she wasn’t cut out for law enforcement. 

“Stormtrooper armour is shit,” he manages, picking the thing that he can brush off the easiest. It works, because Cara laughs. Din can’t make himself join her, but the sound does ease something in him slightly. 

“No kidding. Sometimes I wonder why they even bother with it at all.” She looks him up and down. She can probably see the injuries that he’s trying not to admit to. They’ve spent enough time together that she can read him fairly well. “Fett said that there’s a few med packs in the ‘fresher, if you need any. You good to do it, or you need some help?” 

Din likes Cara, but he’s been vulnerable with enough people for today. “I’m good.” He’ll manage, at least. This will hardly be the first time that he’s patched himself up. 

She gives him a searching look, like she can tell that something’s wrong. Is he really that transparent? “I’m good,” he says again, and barely restrains his flinch as her brow furrows. Now she really knows something’s off. “Here.” He holds out the datastick as a distraction; anything to get her eyes off him. “It has the coordinates.” 

She takes it, but doesn’t smile. “All on here?” 

“All on there.” 

“Alright. I’ll take it up to Fett and we’ll see where we’re headed.” 

“We have a pit stop we need to make first,” Din tells her. His mouth doesn’t even want to shape the words, but he’s already done enough horrible things today that this is barely adding to the heap. “Trask. There are more Mandalorians there that want Gideon, maybe even as much as me.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “I thought you were looking for other Mandalorians – they weren’t able to help?” 

Din thinks of Ahsoka, and the Seeing Stone, and the droids that had taken Grogu. “Not as such. But they’ll be happy to help us infiltrate the ship.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Cara says, and with one more searching look, she turns to head up to the cockpit. 

Fett and Fennec are already up there, so he’s finally left alone. He looks at the bag of stormtrooper armour that is tied up against the hold. It already seems impossible to him that he agreed to put it on, but if they need to pull a similar stunt to get onto Gideon’s ship, he won’t hesitate before doing it again. 

It really had been shit armour, though. His arm throbs hotly, a warning. He hadn’t even noticed it when he’d put the beskar back on, too focused on the goal of armouring himself once again to even think about medical care. He slowly moves across the hold to the small refresher tucked against a dedicated cargo hold, and lets himself in. 

He finds the bacta patches easily enough – Fett has enough here that Din is half convinced that he’s got an army hidden somewhere that he hasn’t told them about. Taking off the beskar again makes him feel foul, but there’s no other way he’s getting the bacta on.  _ There’s no one here,  _ he tells himself, and when that doesn’t work,  _ it’s for the kid.  _ He needs to be in fighting shape. 

He sets his vambrace on a convenient shelf and rolls his sleeve up. There are angry bruises already covering his skin, and he winces as he layers the bacta on carefully. No point using more than he needs, even if Fett is overstocked. He tucks a few in his utility pouch for emergencies, and then carefully puts his vambrace back on. 

His arm isn’t the only thing that’s injured. The explosions hit close enough to home that his entire body is aching, and the stormtrooper armour doesn’t have the same protections that his helmet does, so his ears are still ringing even hours later. Only time and sleep can fix those, and he doesn’t have either. Instead he carefully leans his hip against the sink, and lifts his helmet off. 

It shouldn’t feel different, but it does. He stares at his reflection. What had Mayfeld seen? His eyes, the curve of his chin, his lips, the wildness of his hair that he barely pays attention to. The fear that Din knows he hadn’t been hiding very well. The knot in his throat that had prevented him from speaking. He closes his eyes, but that just makes it worse, so he opens them again. He brings a hand up to brush against his skin, but even that feels distant, his glove cool and smooth. 

Changing his appearance now feels like spitting against fate, but Din has been doing that for a long time. He runs his hands through his hair before looking around for what he needs, trying to keep his thoughts only on his hands and on the contents of this room, like that could make the time pass quicker. Like that could distract him from the knowledge that his child is in danger. 

There is a shaving kit tucked behind the mirror, and Din makes careful use of it. He’d kept the moustache as something only he knew about, but now Mayfeld knows too. He’d told the other man that he wouldn’t kill him, and he won’t, but it still sits wrong, lodged in his chest like a knife someone had stabbed him with. Someone out there knows what his face looks like. Had he done it to himself? Or is it Mayfeld’s fault? The Imperial’s, for making such a stupid terminal to begin with? Or is it just the same feeling he always gets when the kid is involved? Din is certain that knife has been stuck in him for a long time. Maybe it’s the same one; or maybe it doesn’t matter at all. 

He trims the moustache carefully, leaning into the long habit as a reason not to think. The ship changes course and he nearly cuts himself, and the artificial gravity loosens its hold. He really needs to tell Fett that he has to do something about that. If it weren’t for the weight of his armour, he’d probably be floating a little bit right now. 

He tucks the kit away when he’s done and stares at himself some more. He remembers so little from the day that the Mandalorians had rescued him, and his parents' faces are mere smears against the backdrop of fire and ruin. But he remembers that his father had a moustache. He presses a finger against his own and sighs. 

He doesn’t know what today means for him. He doesn’t have the time to figure it out.  _ When I get him back _ , he tells himself. They can find a quiet moon somewhere and Din can hide them away and he will have time to think. Until then, there is only the mission. 

He puts his helmet back on. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by the fact that Din shaves sometime between 2x07 and 2x08?? Like we can see it when he takes his helmet off and I just had to fill in that gap. 
> 
> I struggled with this one a bit, because mostly everything I wanted to say has already been said in [this fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034703) Please check it out, it's better than what's here I promise.


End file.
